House Lannister Rise in Calradia
by 0ldMonk
Summary: Tywin Lannister finds himself in the lands of Calradia after Tyrion gifted him an arrow to the chest while he was in the privy. Follow him as he builds a legacy on a mountain of corpses. [The banner in the cover was made by Roudrac for the modding community of M&B:W]
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

 _I was definitely inspired by_ _ **ol-11jrw** who wrote a Harry Potter/Game of Thrones Crossover in response to the __**Whitetigerwolf's Challenge**. As you can now guess, the main protagonist will be **Tywin Lannister** , however instead of a Harry Potter Crossover he will cross into Calradia the land of **Mount & Blades: Warband**. _

_The reason why I chose this crossover was that I wanted to see Tywin grow in a similar environment. A modern environment would be interesting, I admit, yet I want to see great armies or great inrigues. Although, it would be interesting if Tywin would be reborn as a Goa'uld in Stargate. Well food for thoughts.  
_

 _Will he succeed at making a lasting legacy for generations to come or he will he die like a smallfolk?  
_

 **Disclaimer:**

 _1\. The character Tywin Lannister is trademarked by George R. R. Martin. I only hope that I did the character justice as I portray him.  
_

 _2\. The banner in the cover was made by Roudrac for the modding community of M &B:W. I thank him for his loyal efforts to the community of Mount and Blade: Warband._

 _3\. Mount and Blade: Warband is trademarked by TaleWorlds Entertainment. I am waiting for the new Mount and Blade II: Bannerlord._

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 **A New Dawn**

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Tywin of the Great House Lannister gasped as the arrow lodged deep into his body, between his ribs, knocking his breath out. He could only stare in disbelieve at Tyrion who shamed his legacy, again and again, had the balls to murder him in the privy. He never saw him as a son, this creature of the Seven Hells, no, since the birth he wanted to strangle this dwarf.

A shame he did not. No, it was a mistake that he did not. He lamented his decisions as now he was certain, the once proud great House Lannister will be ruined.

He could barely see as dark spots conquered his vision while he had difficulties to breathe. At last, a shallow breath escaped him as he tried to utter a curse at the foul creature.

With a gasp, he awoke, snapping his lids open while panting as if he had a nightmare. He saw the change in the sky as the sun rose, making the surrounding brighter than ever before which was a beautful sight to his eyes.

His hands pulled to his chest, patting down where the arrow would be, yet he found a surprisingly fit chest, fitter than before. Impossible, he thought, but with suspicion, he continued to pat his body and noticed that was not his body.

He tried to stand up, yet failed miserably as his aching body did not want to obey. Instead, he crawled to a river he could see, like a pathetic smallfolk. Indeed, a shameful display for the great Lord of House Lannister. He truly despised the act, it reminded him too much of his foolish father, the Laughing Lion, he scoffed at that.

There in the natural clear blue water, he saw that which shocked him. His face, his youthful face as if he was once more the young knight who accompanied his uncle Jason into the War of the Ninepenny Kings. His crystal blue eyes of his mother Jeyne Marband which vanished in the water were reflected.

"B-by the Sevens," uttered Tywin bewildered. His fingers touched his face, feeling the smooth youthful skin he remembered he had once. "T-that could not be."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, trying to gain clarity. His reflection undisturbed as if mocking him. His face twisted into a snarl as he punched the water, again and again.

Gradually, he came to his senses and looked around with suspicion marring his face as he contemplated the miracle, for what else could it be but that or the Seven's punishment. Mayhaps, this was hell, yet as he slowly stood up, his body not aching anymore, he felt powerful.

It was surely strange, he thought as he stared into his hands, clenching and unclenching them. He admitted that his hands were never weak but once he clenched them he would ever feel a little pain, an injury he gained in the war, yet as he did that there was no pain as if he had not the injury which would be impossible.

"I am...alive." He concluded hesitantly as if he did not believe even his own words spoken by him.

The look around did not give him hints to his possible place, instead, it confused him even more so. Thick forest so far his eyes could see with a river deep in the forest. Riverlands would meet the requirements for that, yet it was stranger, far too strange. Although, he admitted he was never religious before. The Faith of the Seven was a necessary practice. Since the death of his beloved Joanna, he would spat at them in the privacy of his mind.

A mocking smile graced his face as he thought of the creature.

"His beloved Shae," he mocked, "what a fool." Yet fury pervaded his mind as his once great legacy was nothing but ashes, even a greater shame than the likes of Tytos could have made to the Great House.

"Curse him to the Seven Hells!" He spat to the dirt, getting rid of the frustration.

He sighed deeply as he considered the gift he was apparently bestowed by the gods. His face grimaced at that, his hands clenching into fists while he thought that the gods did not help his Joanna and letting her birth the foul creature.

He clicked his tongue.

At least, he was not without clothes, a mercy he would not let others have. It was simple and crudely made for the smallfolk, nothing fancy, yet disgust welled inside him.

"I, Lord of House Lannister, a smallfolk." He laughed derisively. He will build the legacy again, even to greater heights than his ancestor Lan the Clever. With his own mortal hands, he shall make a long lasting legacy that even the gods would acknowledge.

He knew that if he would follow the river, it would not be long before he would find a village, after all, water was a precious resource to all living beings.

His cheap common boot made of animal skin, he assumed, met the ground as he walked to North following along the river. Wet splashed onto his face, halting him in his walk. He glanced above and saw the darkening clouds. The rain was imminent, he concluded as he hurried the river up.

In his hurry, he did not notice a wolf in the woods who stalked him hungry after meat.

Another raindrop fell down on him, making him hasten the pace, yet as he did so, a menacing growl was heard to which he turned around and saw a wolf pouncing on him.

Unfortunately, he was without weapons, so he dodged to the side, narrowingly passing the claws of the animal. As his back pounded into the dirt, he let the roll lead him before he immediately jumped up on his feet and growled to the wolf. In the furthest corner of his mind, he was ashamed of this act, yet it was necessary to convince a predator that he was not a harmless prey in the hopes that the wolf retreated.

It growled again, louder than before to which Tywin responded with an even greater growl mimicking a lion.

The wolf was suspicious silent after that display. It stalked around him while he faced the wolf, never showing his back as he growled again, trying to scare the animal away. He opened his mouth wide, showing his teeth at the animal as he took a step.

The wolf stopped and gave a grunt before it vanished into the woods. He stood his ground, waiting for some time until he was certain that he did successfully intimidate the wolf.

"I would never have thought that the symbol of the Starks was so easy to scare," he mused a little amused. But he did not entertain it for long, after all, rain was to his trouble looming.

So he continued, this time taking a little time to ever glance behind him because of animals who wanted to prey on humans. He was not foolish to dismiss the wolf completely as they were cunning animals. Although, he admitted that Robb Stark had a certain low cunning mind, yet wasted that all on some chit. Too immature and too arrogant like his father, he mused as he made headway.

It did not take him long before the last stretch of trees revealed a little village with mingling smallfolk.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _I did some initial research on **Tywin's personality** which I found interesting to say as he was **ruthless** , **pragmatism** and **intelligent**. He had his flaws which one of them was that he utterly **hated** **Tyrion** which to be fair he had his reasons. Furthermore, he was not really a brilliant commander as some would thought, but a very very fine politician who could plan longterm which some of our politicians lack, unfortunately. He was a **capable commander** as he knew how to get his army on a favorable position, because the only wars he fought were wars where he had the numerical advantage and where he knew he would win. His reputations was conflated because of his actions he did which were brilliant like that of a master propaganda minister.  
_

 _ **So long story short:** He was a **brilliant strategist** , but **mediocre at tactics** which means he knows his war objectives (or war goals) but on the battle where armies will meet, he will fail against most better tacticians. Of course, he is a **fantastic**_ _ **administrator** after all he ruled as Hand under King Aerys.  
_

So how does that tie into Calradia? Well, we shall see if and how he establish his Great House once more.


	2. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

 _I hope Tywin was justly portrayed in this chapter. I have quite fun as nostalgia enveloped me, making me take a trip to Mount & Blades: Warband again. Ah, how times fly by. Now, I mostly play the DLC Napoleon Wars.  
_

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 **Hear Me Roar!**

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Tywin paused at the sight, a crowd of smallfolk cowering under the ragged poorly armed obvious bandits. He counted seven of them. That was certainly a hindrance to his plans. However, it was an opportunity at the same time, he contemplated as he watched impassionately how two bandits dragged a girl with them, her arms restricted by their grasping, quite groping hands.

His eyes wandered to the villagers, nothing but fear and shame marred their faces - pathetic indeed - although, he saw a young boy, restrained by his mother as she hugged him, he presumed, as the boy glared furiously at the bandits. Mayhaps the girl was his sister or his love, considered he while his right hand went to his left side, not feeling his sword, his face frowned.

The mercy of the gods did not reach further than already, he mused as he lightly shook his head at the foolish thought. He would never trust the gods, even with the mercy they bestowed on him, yet his House words reminded him that a Lannister always pays his Debts.

Even had he a sword, he would not so foolishly charge at the bandits for honour like Eddard Stark charged into King's Landing. And how did Eddard Stark fare? His head chopped with his own Valyrian Sword, Ice. Quite pathetic.

He held huge disdain for the Great House Stark. Oh, he certainly respected them to a degree, but the foolish decision which they chose destroyed them. He admitted that the young Stark was a brilliant tactician, however, he foolishly thought that winning a battle could win the war. Indeed, a fool as he was could not understand the greater goal to win a war.

Tywin retreated back behind a tree as he saw the bandits walking away from the village amidst the screams of promised vengeance from the boy and the silent lamentation of all villagers.

This presented him with a rare opportunity indeed. He could assert his will onto the smallfolk, bringing the inner fury they buried for so, so long out and crafting them into his men, his levies, even though he had an inkling that the Lord ruling them would not be very happy at him if he tried that. Well, that would be a very ambitious goal, he admitted, furthermore, he needed to know where in the Seven Hells he was. Unfortunately, illiterate peasants were useless similar to the horse shit marring the dirt ground close to him.

He chuckled at the thought of pissing at a lowly noble of this small village as his back slumped against the tree. He was exhausted he admitted, even with this youthful body.

Ah, the irony where he must fear bandits of the likes of Ser Amory Lorch, an honourable Ser he was not. Although to be fair, Lorch did save his life from an assassination. At least, Lorch was more useful than he initially thought.

As he had the time to consider the mistakes he made in the past, it was a sobering thought that not everything he did reach his desired conclusion.

Oh, how he knew that Tyrion was innocent of the crime, yet he pressed on the charges because he planned to kill the monster through the opportunity presented by the enemy. He always wanted to end the pathetic life of his whoring and drinking dwarf as if it was his son, yet he could not for what would the other houses say if they heard he committed Kinslaying, one of the greatest crime one could commit.

Even if he wanted to deny it, Tyrion was his son, there was no doubt of that, unfortunately. He wished the monster was never born, Joanna may have lived. He once entertained the thought of naming Tyrion his heir, a foolish thought, yet... yet he could not deny the cunning and intelligent mind of the dwarf. It was the only positive he could attribute Tyrion.

He sighed, calmed down from the anger which coursed his body and mind after being killed by his, admittingly, own son. He could not help it, he laughed a full belly laugh.

Abruptly, he ended his laugh as he heard some close whispers. He turned his head to the side, peeking out and saw some men gathering around the edges of the wood, obviously trying to find the source of the laugh. He sneered at that stupidly brave display, but of course, against just seven shabby bandits their cocks vanished into cunts.

How typical of smallfolk, he mocked them as he was of the thought that they ever needed a noble to lend them a hand.

His hands found purchase on the tree as he forced himself up standing. Afterwards, he stepped without fear out of his cover which brought the villagers out of balance as they were quite surprised, but not for long as their faces were slowly morphing into a look of suspicion while they tensed their hands on the farming tools.

"A fine day, " said he, "do you not agree?" His smile was wide, sharp like the claws of a lion.

The tension was so thick one could almost cut it with a knife. Silence reigned supreme as he stared them down as if the improvised weapon they got was nothing but meagre toys to him while the men gripped their farming tools as uncertainty spread. The women were clustered behind them while they glanced at him with wide eyes that of a prey fearing for its life.

He let the silence continue until he could see that some fidgeted, thus he spoke, "Indeed, a fine day. A nice lass to be raped by the bandits." His tone cut through the tension like a Valyrian Sword, prompting the men to show the fury they hid inside them.

One bravely smallfolk rushed to him uncoordinated with a scythe, trying to cut him into half to a dwarf. With a sneer, Tywin stepped easily back, avoiding the obvious horizontal slash of the blade and closed into the guard of the fool. His right hand held the shaft of the scythe in place while his left hand delivered a devasting blow into the stomach of his opponent, winding him to which the peasant fell to the ground, gasping after air like a fish out of the water.

"What a pathetic display, " he mocked them, "was that all?" The smallfolk needed to be reminded of their places which were on the ground crawling in front of their Lord. Although he was certainly a little rusty, he was a knight, trained and bloodied in the Ninepenny War. As if some smallfolk could harm him without training nor surprise.

His apparent display of power cowered the others. He saw in their eyes the hopelessness and the despair. He spat to the ground in disgust, some winced at his action while others averted their eyes.

"Where is your fucking courage?" His harsh judgemental glare hit them like a charge from a cavalry, some even stepped back like he struck a physical blow at them. "Did you all lose your cocks?" The looks went down the ground.

"H-how c-could w-w-we f-fight?" A girl who did not even reach his chest responded to his challenge, earning from him respect, even if he did not show it on his face. Instead, he clapped loudly and lazy.

Until he suddenly stopped, walked in front of the little brave girl. His tall body shadowed her small frame, yet she tried to look at him, trying to show no fear to no avail as he could see how from time to time glance around his eyes, never meeting them.

Yet. She astonished him, not even flowered she had the necessary courage.

"Where others cowered," he began to speak, "the fine lass here showed herself twice the man than her father." His words brought visible guilt onto them, especially her father he could recognize because of the resemblance.

The boy stepped forward, showing a face of pure adultered hate, not at him but he knew what the boy's heart stored.

"I won't cow like a pig to be slaughtered! I will kill them! Every last of them!" His words awakened the rage of others. Well, well, well. A fine lad, after all, he fastened the act.

"The lass could have been spared if you all had the balls to kill them," said Tywin, "after all, you had the numerical advantage. How then could you cower like animals to be preyed on?" His last words echoed through the village, getting the villagers invigorated as some screamed incoherently in rage. Even the women were inspired, he thought amused.

"Did you all fear for your meagre life?" He asked, knowing very well the answer, yet it was necessary to complete the full act.

Another man found the courage to speak, "O-of course." His whisper was like a mumble from a child fearing punishment in front of his angry parent. An apt description of a smallfolk in front of a Lord.

"Oh, then tell me this, what would you do if your daughter was to be raped by bandits?" He threw the implication to them, agitating them as the thought dug out the long locked fury inside them. The looks he saw pleased him.

It was time for the hammer to strike the iron whilst hot.

"Indeed." A simple word, yet quite sharp which struck them painfully as he watched them flinching.

The boy got his attention as he grabbed the farming tool from the grasp of a man and shouted, "We could save her!" Ah, exactly, Tywin's mood improved considerably as the boy moved his plot far to which he wanted.

It did not take long for the other villager to nod vigorously. One even said, "They should not be far. They don't have horses."

Another one voiced his doubt, "But how can we find the bandits?"

"Are there hunters under you?" He asked although he guessed already that the villagers did not have any hunters because the bows were missing which would be inseparable from a hunter.

He got the answer in form of a shake from the head of some villagers. He sighed as the difficulty rose, well, he could work with that alright.

"That should not be a problem. I can surely track them down." Of course, he could track them as if they were harder to track than cunning animals he hunted in his youth. He admitted that he was not the best hunter like Robert Baratheon even as he gained weight, but humans were easier to track, especially confident carelessly bandits.

"Very well. All men shall follow me whilst I will follow the trail," he spoke in a commanding tone he remembered giving his vassals. The villagers nodded, accepting his command better than some of his vassals who strayed from the given order for a tiny hint of glory.

"Of course, before that, I need a weapon. A knife should be enough." A tiny girl ran to him and pressed a knife into his open palm. That got a smile out of him. How he loved the obedience of the smallfolk.

"We shall fight! Hear me roar!" He shouted, trying to get their blood pumping which it did.  
He roared, trying to imitate the roar of a lion which got the men to roar with him in a bad imitation. Although, it was a little bit shameful, yet he knew such plays were good for the morale.

Lastly, he looked into each of one of their eyes and saw pure determination. Good, good, he pleasantly thought as a smirk graced his face.

Tywin remembered which direction the bandits went, so he followed with his levies of seventeen men and a young boy while the rest of the men stayed in the village to protect the families. Seventeen should be enough through it would reassure him if they had decent swords or spears.

He halted, crouched down and carefully touched the dirt, feeling the possible footprint. His fingers brushed against the impact for more than one time, feeling the wet soil. His levies respectfully let him work as they watched the surroundings. Slowly he stood up and said, "The trail is less than an hour old." He found more tracks which he investigated in detail with his experienced eyes. He nodded a little as he concluded that seven men and a girl passed this place. He was sure as the small footprint gave credence to his assumption.

He followed the trail, not voicing his thoughts out while his men followed him as he silently stalked into the deep woods. Although he did not entertain any hope that the girl was unassaulted, he hoped as he did not want his men to charge directly. He wanted to assess the enemy after all that was one of his mistakes he did against Rob Stark, having thought of him as a naive commander, oh he was certainly naive, just not a naive commander.

Rain fell from the sky, splattering against them while wetting the soil more than it was already, smudging the trail even further. It made him consider hasting the search.

In the end, he voiced his concerns, "Rain will muddle the trail. It would be best if we follow with haste." His men agreed as they hastened their paces behind him.

Fortunately, in the distance they saw a campfire possible belonging to the bandits, so he halted. His men stopped too, confusion married their faces, yet he ignored them and just pointed to the campfire whilst speaking, "There could be the bandits. I need one scout who only will investigate. Nothing more, nothing less. Do I make myself clear?"

The boy tried to step up, but in the end, hesitated as he heard the last words from Tywin. A man with a pitchfork instead stepped forward with a grim face and said, "I will do it." Tywin stared deeply at him, trying to discern if he would report back or charge like a fool.

In the end, he let him scout ahead. He watched with a hint of uneasiness as the villager moved silently while crouching to his destination until he vanished between some trees.

Tywin and his men waited with bated breath for some time until the scout appeared again from behind the tree and came in front of him with a pale face,

"These are our bandits," He answered the unspoken question. Tywin stared at him and saw a little something in the eyes. How interesting, he mused.

"The lass?" The face of his scout got whiter. Ah, that could be a problem. And it was as the other villagers got the implication. The boy, however, was eerily silent.

Before everything could go to shit, his voice struck them, "Do not foolishly announce our presence. Now is not the time. We will now advance. If, if I only give the signal, then we will all strike. Understood?" He got hesitant nods. His eyes wandered to the boy and saw how he clenched his hands into fists so hard that he feared he would break his fingers.

Tywin knew the dangerous look, so he walked in front of the boy, clasped a hand onto the shoulder and crouched down until they were at the same height.

He said, "Now is not the time. Use your fury at the enemy." He got a slow nod.

Together they slowly advanced close to the campfire. The jeering voices of the bandits could be heard whilst a female sobbing hit them like a hammer, yet Tywin gifted them all a harsh glare, stopping them from committing something foolish.

It was not long before he could see the situation clearly. Three bandits playing with the girl whilst two were eating near the campfire and last two sharpened their swords.

He turned his head, raised a finger, showing four fingers up and pointed at the two bandits who sharpened their swords. The men he signalled sneaked to the two bandits whilst the others prepared themselves, eager and ready as the fury coursed through the veins.

As he was close enough behind the bandit who ate without care, he gripped his knife and embraced the bandit with his left arm, raising his head up and stabbed the knife into his neck. Blood spurted out of the wound, painting his face and the dirt red.

This brought a commotion as his men attacked. The bandit who was also eating nearby was clubbed to death in a surprise attack.

The three bandits had their pants down literally which got them unprepared for the lethal assaults of scythes by his men.

The last two who sharpened their swords fared a little better, even cutting two of his men down, but were killed by pitchforks through the guts, spilling the intestines out.

At last, he looked at the boy who repeatedly stabbed into one of the bandits who had played with the girl. The girl was now sobbing unceasingly while trying to vanish into the ground as she covered her head ashamed.

At the sight, Tywin could only sigh.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _Tywin Lannister was a **trained knight** , although he was nothing to the likes of Robert Baratheon, Jamie Lannister or Arthur Dayne, he could hold his ground against untrained opponent and even some trained knights. Furthermore, his now **youthful body** should enable him to have better chances.  
_

 _Of course, like every noblity **he could hunt and track an animal** , perhaps not so good like an actual experienced hunter, but humans are easier to track, trust me on this._

 _As I mentioned before in prologue, he was **very good at how to display subtle powerplays**. I would not exactly say that he was charismatic as he ruled his vassals with an iron fist of fear, but he could understand the 'price' of every men as he so aptly put: __**There is a tool for every task, and a task for every tool.  
** (He will never see them as more than his tools to climb the ladder as Baelish would say.)_


	3. Chapter II

**Author's Note:**

 _If you see some mistakes or some strange spellings please give me a heads up.  
_

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 **The First Part of a Mummers' Act**

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Tywin's feet stepped on the wet soil to the dying bandit, the pitchfork sticking through the bandit's guts, although he did not lose any intestines yet, he would soon meet his end.

As he neared the dying man on the ground, a mocking grin resurfaced on the bandit's face, showing his disgusting foul teeth and said, "Y-you. All. Are. Dead." His sneer was all too visible on his face as he looked down on the soon-to-be-dead bandit.

The bandit saw that he was not intimidated in the slightest, so he uttered with his last breath, "Swadia." One word which meant nothing to him, yet he had a particular feeling as he considered the word of the dead bandit. It must have some significance, he thought as he turned around to his surviving men and instantly was greeted with pale faces nearing despair.

A lord mayhaps, he considered the implication, an enemy lord also would fit. Yet, the bandit did not address Swadia as Lord Swadia which grounded his thoughts into halt. He needed to gather much more intelligence which he lacked in every aspect, to form an accurate picture for his next moves.

He stared at the boy whose grey eyes had a hint of fear, but also defiance which fit him fine as he asked, "Swadia. What does that mean?" The boy's arms hugged fiercely the silently sobbing girl in comfort.

He got askance looks as if he was a foreign creature which irritated him more so, his right hand clasped around the hilt of his obtained sword itched to show them the errors of staring at him in this queer fashion.

Alas, it would be detrimental to his goals, a necessary sacrifice.

"The Kingdom of Swadia," the boy responded as he flinched. Ah, an enemy kingdom, he reasoned, the supreme power on these lands, mayhaps.

Yet, he needed to know, "Have any of you heard of 'Westeros'?" He already assumed that he could not be in Westeros, after all, there was no Kingdom of Swadia unless the Westerlands split into little kingdoms since his death which to be fair was very likely. He built his legacy on a shoddy brittle foundation.

He banished this thought in the furthest pit of his mind.

Instead, he watched how the villagers' faces marred confusion to which he just sighed in defeat. Well, there's nothing to be done, he thought as he stripped the corpse of its leather armour. The coppery smell invaded his nose as he lifted the armour, inspecting the cheap quality, but in the end, he wore it as it was better than nothing. He took the steel vambraces while his eyebrows rose up to his hairline at the suspicious fine quality. A part of a noble's armour, he concluded as he could see how polished it was, even as it was marred with dirt and blood.

He heard behind him the noises of his men who stripped the corpses out of their armours. His head turned to the side as a rattle echoed, one of his men tried to pull the steel boots off the corpse. At his stern glare, the man backed away from the loot.

Tywin took the steel boot and exchanged it for his cheap boot made of animal skin. Unfortunately, there was not much to loot in quality, but at least they got three steel swords which were claimed by the boy and two other men. He prefered that the boy handed the sword to one of his men, but let him have it. He had his men's respect and they obeyed him certainly, but such relationship was fickle at best like a flame which could die every moment.

Three other men were armed with spears, looted from the dead bandits, obviously happy. He sneered at that, happy at such lowly gains was typical smallfolk.

As he had the attention of his levies again, he asked something which plagued his mind since dawn, "Which lord rules the fief?" It was important to know so he could plan ahead.

"Jarl Dirigun," the boy answered, Tywin just stared hard at the boy as the name was not known to him.

"What is the village called? And in which Kingdom?" Instead, he continued to ask after crucial details.

"Aldelen. Kingdom of Nords." So the village was called Aldelen and part of the Kingdom of Nords, he mused while he sheathed the sword in its scabbard. He closed his eyes for a moment as rummaged through his chaotic thoughts. The two Kingdoms were at war, that much was obvious for him. However, which of them was winning or losing, that was the question he needed to answer.

"Tell me about both Kingdoms," said Tywin while ignoring the stench of his armour, a disgusting putrid smell. Although he admitted that he was very doubtful if some smallfolk could guide him through the Kingdoms, his options were limited as it was. He would not say he was desperate, no it was only prudence.

"I, I can tell you about both of them. My father was a merchant who travelled with me between both Kingdoms," said an old man with a beard so great that like of a maester, he thought amused at his own jest. Pycelle did not have such long white beard, he admitted.

Tywin focused his eyes on the old man now thrice his age which amused him as he was now young again through the whims of the gods. He shall pay his debts in time, although the gods never specified how he could pay them, so the gods should not be surprised if he instead paid them with blood, that of his enemies.

Oh, at the moment, he did not have any, but it would not be long before he would wipe another noble line off the map again like he did to the Reyne and Tarbeck Houses. His success would ever invite the envy and jealousy of others, he was certain of that, after all, the mad King was once his friend who but stabbed him in the back.

Another bile rose up to his mouth which he spat in disgust out at the vile thought of The Relationship. It churned his stomach in anger, Joanna did never love Aerys, would never love...

The terrified stares he got shook him out of his own hell to which he just said, "Tell me your name, son of a merchant." Well, he commanded rather, but that was his natural disposition and privilege as a great lord.

The old man obeyed his order as it should be, "Hagar, Ser." Ah, a very fine mind in the midst with much experiences certainly, giving credence to his status of being a son of a merchant. How it pleased him that at least some smallfolk had the wits to address him as such.

"Now, begin." He was not impatient, it was just that he did not like to be clueless like a chit who did not know her station. His face morphed into a sneer as he thought about Tyrion's wife, Tysha. Oh, how he hated them, smallfolk who thought they could elevate themselves like his father's mistress, a lowborn, the chit, besmirching the memory of his mother, Jeyne Marbrand. He could not control the urge to spit again, making his distaste obvious. His men had the wits to hold their tongues, else he would need to cut their's out.

He sighed again in apparent frustration at his failures inherited from his pathetic father.

He looked at Hagar, giving him the look which prompted him to tell his tale, "The Kingdom of Nords lies in the north of Calradia." - He scoffed, already knowing such - "It is said that the Nords migrated from the 'Nordland', a place so far north over the sea. After the Calradic Empire fell, Nords invaded Calradia, giving rise to the Kingdom of Nords as King Ragnar crowned himself." Ah, an interesting tale which was amusingly similar to Harren Hoare who ruled the Riverlands after his invasion. That surely was not a good indication as the Ironborn culture respected strength above all else in form of the 'iron price'. If the Nords were similar, well, it would restrict his option considerably.

"The Kingdom of Swadia, on the other hand, is ruled by King Harlaus. This was not the first war, since the Fall of the Calradia Empire they warred against each other, contesting for the dominance in Calradia." Here Hagar gave an ugly frown as he continued, "Swadia won the last wars, claiming much territory, but could not advance further in the mountains." The Kingdom of Swadia won the last wars, he considered, that was obvious the stronger faction or should he say the stronger player at the Game of Thrones.

He assumed that Swadia would likely advance no further. His head raised up until he could see the tip of a mountain. A natural defence like the Vale or the Dorne, he thought as Hagar continued, "Our armies should prevail in the mountains against the Knights of Swadia." He glanced at Hagar, observing the tiny movement of his expression of doubtfulness.

Even the smallfolk did not have much belief in the armies of the Nords. How pathetic, he scoffed audibly, getting Hagar nervous while his eyes glanced everywhere but him as if he would punish Hagar for a slight.

Instead, Tywin motioned with his hand, getting Hagar to continue, "Jarl Dirigun is a minor lord under the King." Mayhaps, he could turn the fief against the lord, mused he as he paced a little around his men. A mummers farce could certainly work with the right tools, he thought of the Red Wedding, a great success he orchestrated. Unfortunately, may as he wanted, he did not have the power he once wielded to craft such grand act, even then for a minor lord that would be too wasteful, yet mayhaps he could use the minor lord to advance his schemes.

A worthy endeavour to regain his standing. Tywin smirked at the play he could envision. How ironic that he wanted to play a mummers act, unbefitting of his person. The things he did for his legacy were nothing in his pursuit for everlasting legacy in these strange lands, Calradia was it.

It was time for the act to begin, he thought mockingly. His body moved closer to a corpse, patted it down, finding nothing but some trinkets his men forgot to loot. Even in looting the smallfolk failed, another sneer was visible on his face for all of them to see as he continued to pat other corpses down, searching for the next tool he could use to advance the plot of the act.

It did not take him much longer before his hands held a letter which he opened. His eyes flew over the lines until he took a sombre look, making the others agitated.

His face morphed into fury as he read, "Take some men to raid Aldelen." This sentence smacked them in the face. Slowly, the faces morphed into the look he wanted, no, sculptured.

Of course, the literate smallfolk, Hagar, could destroy everything if left unchecked. Thus, he stared into Hagar's eyes and handed him the letter while he admired the knife and said, "Go on, read it. Confirm it." Before Hagar could utter the first words, Tywin let the knife fall between Hagar's legs with a dull noise, terrifying him. Hagar's face was already paler as he spoke while holding with trembling fingers the letter, "T-take s-some men to r-raid Aldelen." The confirmation brought another round of hateful curses and promises of finding the culprit.

It was obvious at this point that he only needed to point his sharpened sword at the Jarl Dirigun.

After all, if the Invasion was imminent then it would not be long before the lowly noble would amass his levies in Aldelen. He did not entertain the thought of fighting for the Nords. That would be the moment where he would strike.

"Who could the culprit be?" He needed to voice the question which all thought of to let them reach the desired conclusion, of course, with his help.

"It must be Swadia obviously!" A peasant with a spear shouted outrageously.

He got some vigorous nods and some even cursed out loud at the enemy.

Now he needed to direct the molten fury. "Did Jarl Dirigun defended your village in a time of need?" asked he bluntly, after all, sometimes a blunt knife could even cut.

He got a round of shakes, his lips twitched a little as his task was all but complete. The doubts settled on their faces as he pushed on, "Did you all pay taxes?"

Silence greeted him as if the tongues of them were cut off. He just needed to utter one word, "Indeed." The implications were as clear as the steel he obtained which was to say all too clear.

"H-he wouldn't..." The boy tried to convince himself, but the seed of doubts was already planted by Tywin, giving rise to suspicion and a better target to focus the hate.

"He would not do it himself," said Tywin calmly as if he would order the death of a thousand souls again. An apt description as in this case he would order the death of Jarl Dirigun.

All faces he could see were beset with an unimaginable fury like that of the famous House words of Baratheon: Ours Is The Fury.

He did not linger any longer and took the first step to follow back to the village. His men followed him in silent anger which was fine to him. Once a sword was moulded, it will cool down, giving way to cold sharp steel.

He saw a group of five men dragging the two corpses of his fallen men with them for the families, he assumed. He could surely use that.

Oh, he shall reward Hagar for his discretion not long after he assumed his noble right after all he will need some literate tools to build his unshakeable foundation.

His heavy boots pounded into the dirt, scaring nearby animals away while some birds took off. As they slowly reached the last stretch of trees, he said, "Call every man. I want them all to meet me the morrow." He could only smirk as the smallfolk obeyed him.

He knew very well that they would obey him. There was just the matter of Hagar. "Hagar, follow me. The rest of you are dismissed," said Tywin coldly as a cold breeze washed over them while the rain increased in intensity.

A quick glance to the side confirmed for Tywin that Hagar was pale as a corpse which fit him alright.

As he walked away from the other group who embraced their families while the group who dragged the corpse invited sobbing and screams.

He strolled to a tree, turned around and met the eyes full of fear with his dispassionate eyes. He just stared, cowering Hagar into submission until he had enough and said, "A Lannister Always Pays His Debts. Should you tell a soul..." Hagar nodded vigorously like his life was dependent on his answer which it amusingly was.

"Of course, a Lannister is not without friends." He did not need to say anything more as the implication of possible rewards shook Hagar out of his fear. Greed was ever a good motivator of others and an even greater weakness he could exploit.

"You are the Village Elder." He heard Hagar splutter which brought a sneer on his face, after all, as if he had not the wits to gather that an elderly man with this much knowledge was not a Village Elder.

Instead, he continued, "Tell me more about Jarl Dirigun." His biggest mistake in the war against Robb Stark was that Tywin underestimated him on the account that the boy was green.

"He is the son of Jarl Reamald and Lady Eir," Ah, that made sense, Jarl was a title, Tywin chuckled a little at his slow wits while he listened, "He has a sister, Lady Thera. There are rumours he lusted after his own sister."

"Does his sister accompany him to the village?" asked Tywin as he considered the use of the rumour.

"Yes, Ser -" He interrupted the Village Elder, "Lannister. Tywin Lannister." His House would echo through Calradia, but until then he shall give his name to useful subjects who earned it.

"Yes, Ser L-lannister," said Hagar hesitantly as if he tasting the name, trying to get the pronunciation right fearing that his lord would strike him for a slight if he did not.

The conversation fell to silence as Tywin paced again forth and back, contemplating how he could use her in a fashion which benefitted him greatly. He was not really sure if he should believe the rumours as such were fickle things in hands of the smallfolk, yet if it were true it could make his path easier all the way.

Alright, he could not trust the rumours so the wait-and-see approach would be only prudent.

In the end, both of them were disturbed by a young girl who said, "Elder, my mother offers to let the new friend sleep in our home." Ah, how lowly he fell that a smallfolk offered him to sleep in a shabby shack. He hated it that he must bow so low before a smallfolk, yet he knew that he could only hope for the generosity of others, however, he would remind them in time.

The Village Elder said, "V-very well, this here is Ser Lannister. Please address him as such, Mary." The little girl was confused until her face brightened like a sun on the morrow and said excited, "Oh, oh! You are a knight! Right?" Tywin Lannister scoffed as if he was only a mere knight.

The girl ignored him and continued, "Did rescue a princess once?" He could only stare blankly at her, trying to comprehend her babble while she did not stop herself, but continued on her delusions, "Ah! You fought a dragon!"

In a certain sense, he fought a dragon, although it was just a metaphor of the man who was known as the mad king.

He could only close his eyes at the annoyance, hoping that the foolish little chit would stop already. Hagar at least understood him and admonished the girl, "Stop. Don't listen to the Swadian bards. Lead the Ser to your home." Exactly, Tywin did not want to stay in the unpredictable rain. And the exhaustion told him that he could not think clearly without having slept off the headaches he got from the girl.

Fortunately, for both of them, the girl led him to her home, a little shack close to the forest where he saw her mother who he admitted was a sight to behold for a peasant, waiting for them.

Ah, that smile reminded him of Joanna which irked him as his fingers itched to pull the sword out and kill her for the transgression.

"Welcome, Ser. I hope we did not insult you with our meagre stead," said she while she bowed down at least. His anger cooled down at her apparent obedience and his murderous look disappeared in a blink of an eye.

She sighed in relief which got him to raise an eyebrow at her.

"You can call me Brynhildr, Ser," she introduced herself and her little daughter, "and this is Mary."

"And the father?" asked Tywin. She shook her head with a sad look and answered, "He fell in the last war." Ah, if she thought she could seduce him with such an obvious ploy, well, she would rue the day...

Nevertheless, he was tired, he did not have the time for the chit who thinks she could seduce herself up to his station. Mayhaps, he would embrace her for a whore she was.

The little girl went to a huge haystack in the corner, pulled some out and carried a heap to a place where she laid it on the ground like an improvised bed. He held his curse and followed her lead, doing the same for his bed, he scoffed at that while he mocked for what it was: a peasant's bed.

Yet, he would sleep on it, even as his pride reared its ugly head, he ignored it, although it made him uneasy as he was reminded of his situation.

As he closed his eyes, he felt a body close to him to which he jerked his head to the side and saw the whore cuddling to him. His mouth opened, yet nothing came out of it as he could only incredulous stare at her insolence.

Instead, he sighed tiredly, trying to ignore his hurt pride. He deemed it a necessary sacrifice. He shall exact vengeance, he promised himself.

Tywin Lannister, the once proud Lord of the Great House, slept with a lowborn woman on his first day in the new strange world of Calradia.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _ **Tywin Lannister is a complex character**. Some of **his actions are contradictory** which make sense as **he is a hypocrite**. His youth was **shaped by the failure of his father** , Tytos Lannister, the Toothless or Laughing Lion. He promised himself to be **what his father could not be** and that was the totally opposite of the coin which was a man to be utterly feared by everyone. **He would never tolerate weaknessess as that was the lesson he was**_ _ ** _ **unintentional**_ teached by his father.**  
_

 _If you hurt his pride, well expect that he will make you rue the day you've slighted him._

 _Well, some fans theorize that Joanna birthed Aerys babies which I thrash in the trashbin as it would not make much sense in many ways. Even if we assume that it was true, Tywin would let Joanna and the children die in an accident without besmirching his legacy where he drew **pride** from._

 ** _I won't go into detail wether Joanna Lannister loved Tywin or Aerys, because I do not have the necessary knowledge for that (Of course, you can tell me in the review what you think)._**

 _Many asked why did Tywin had such **hate for the smallfolk. I disagree** , he did not hate them for what they were which was: low on the ladder._

 ** _He hated the thought of a smallfolk who want to climb the ladder, instead of staying low (He was not the only one as it was normal for higher lords to look down on others who were not of 'ancient houses')._**

 ** _It makes sense as the mistress of his father was a lowborn. His father had two mistresses which were all smallfolk, all these were contributing factors for the low opinion of his vassals at his father's reign (Tywin Lannister deals in reputation as his most guarded currency).  
_**

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 **I am interested in a Beta for this story. Hit me up if you are interested.**


	4. Chapter III

**Author's Note:  
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 _If you find some mistakes be it in the grammar or structure, please tell me. Enjoy this little chapter.  
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 **Playing The Knight**

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Tywin Lannister roused from his heavy slumber, refreshed, feeling the softness on his left, he turned his head slightly to the side and saw the whore sleeping with a satisfied smile.

He did not like her smile at all, it reminded him too much of her. He closed his eyes for a moment as he took deep breaths to calm himself down.

Alright, he admitted that the chit helped him to relieve stress, yet it gnarled in him that she would think he would be hers. Such insolence could not go unpunished, he thought darkly as he got up without being careful to the other sleeping chit.

After he assumed his right, he would have her hanged. He played with the thought of letting her daughter grow up as a whore.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as the whore awoke and her girl who yawned. He stared at the little girl who rubbed the sleep from her eyes while ignoring his person until she blinked at him, then uttered, "M'ning, Father!"

His eyes bulged at that... that disrespect. He really needed to drink wine, else his temper would eliminate his chance of successfully regain his standing.

The lion that once prowled must now bow down to a lowborn girl, what a mockery of everything he was, a punishment of the gods. That was the only reason why he stayed his hands or this little village would burn down the ground.

He stared the girl down, trying to intimidate her as he said, "I am not your Father, foolish girl." The chit had the gall to look at him in bewilderment.

She pouted, puffing her cheeks and told him petulant, "B-but, you slept with Mother!" What in the Seven Hells did he do to deserve this conversation with a child, he complained in the confines of his mind as he felt his hand gripping the pommel of his sword so hard that he felt pain.

"No, I am not your Father," said he, "we do not even have the same hair colour."

"My mother would not sleep with anyone but Father!" She declared triumphantly as if she found the missing piece of a conspiracy.

He felt his teeth grinding in frustration as he just glared at her harshly. He would not lose to a chit who was not even flowered.

Yet, he halted his thoughts. He seriously contemplated his life as he could not fathom why he was angry at a child. In the end, he sighed audibly.

Unexpected slender arms embraced him from behind who he knew was the whore trying to seduce him again. As if, he scoffed.

"Mary, please do not insult the Ser." Her soft voice made him feel relaxed which irked him even more so.

He shook off her arms as he stepped to _the little girl_ who dared to call him her father to his very face.

"You. Are. Not. My. Daugther." He grounded out the words as his patience was slowly wearing out.

The little girl had the gall to _pout_ at him - the insolence - he could scarcely believe what his eyes saw. No, he could not fall prey into that, he was a Lannister who did not concern himself with the opinion of sheep.

She smiled - grinned - at him and nodded as if she had found out a secret. His stoic mask was his last defence, a defence carefully cultivated through the insults of the court.

"Yes, Ser Daddy!" As she said that she ran out of the house cheerfully while he could only stare. His mask cracked, giving face to fury, hot fury that he was shaking. He would make her pay, _pay_ -

He felt again the arms of that whore embracing him from behind while her head was supported by his shoulder. His head turned slightly to the right and was instantly assaulted on his lips. Before he could gather his wits, her tongue plunged in, making him feel not so lonely anymore.

Wait, she was just a whore, he would get pleasure out of her like every whore he had. However, he would never humble himself to tolerate her as a wife. It would make him a laughing stock in these new lands already before he could usher the era of the Lannisters.

In the end, he walked out of the pathetic excuse of a house and was immediately greeted by the sight of rallied men. He could see his men who fought with him as their gazes were sharp without nervosity while the green ones were fidgeting.

That pleased him immensely as he counted more than fifty possible levies he could marshall against the Jarl. He did not believe that he was in a numeral disadvantage, after all, the Jarl did not even levy them.

The Jarl would be surprised when he tried to levy them.

Tywin knew that these levies were not ready against veterans, but he did not need them to be veterans.

He raised his voice, "Men! Men of Aldelen! Hear me! The Jarl betrayed you all!" He paused as hot fury washed over his men - his levies - and let them.

He raised his right arm, giving way to a fist, silencing the agitated crowd as he continued, "You heard it. Do you all want to let the Jarl dictate you every life, the life of your daughters and wives to be raped by bandits?" Ah, rape was instrumental - especially the rape of the once kidnapped girl - and useful to him if done right.

The roars chilled his bones, yet he was not finished as he struck his right arm to the side, pointing at the village and said, "A beautiful village, isn't it?" He understood theatrics as any other who watched mummers in their acts.

He saw the effect on his men, they wept, some silently, others loudly, but they felt. It would give rise to a sword which could not be broken, even in the face of a superior force.

He could have used the raped girl to strengthen the conviction, but it was not needed apparently which fit him fine.

Tywin could feel the winds of change as he considered his next words very carefully to finish the act. He looked at them in the eyes, trying to gauge their feelings besides the fury he knew they possessed.

He nodded and spoke again, "You do not all know me. You only know me as the Knight." - he paused, letting the silence get to them - "I am Tywin Lannister, a mere Knight." As if he was a mere knight, unfortunately, it would fit contrary to his image he wanted to cultivate for his men. He needed to be a mere knight, instead of a Lord.

"The Jarl -" He was interrupted by the yelling of his men, "- will be coming to levy all of you for the pursuit of his glory." Another round of curses washed over.

He continued, "We will prepare for him. We will offer him the Guest Right. We shall host him with knives." His men roared like animals who sniffed their preys. A beautiful sound to his ears.

His men were ready to be instructed, he saw the determination, the animalistic fury that encompassed them.

"Hagar, tell me about the Jarl's house troops."

The Village Elder obeyed to his satisfaction. "Jarl Dirigun visited last time with not more than twenty Huscarls." He saw his men paling at the mentioned word - Huscarl.

Huscarls, an unfamiliar word again, yet it must be some veteran soldiers, he thought if his men feared them.

He asked, "What are Huscarls?" Surely, fear of them was not warranted.

"The pride of the Kingdom. Armoured shield-bearing infantry with an axe to grind against their foes," answered Hagar with a tremor in his tone.

Well, that complicated his plan considerably, yet it made the deception all the more important. If you could not win against a foe in a straight battle, you must win in the shadows, mused Tywin.

"I want the woodcutters and carpenters to craft hammers. We need them to bash their wits out." The moral of his men increased as they looked up to him in hope.

His order was obeyed as he saw them end in a flurry of activities.

He hoped at least that time was on his side, yet he was not a fool to lie trust into the hands of the gods.

"Hagar, take some men and drag the bandits' corpses to the village. Prepare the feast for our Jarl." Hagar would know how to use these corpses. He was not a man who did survive to that old age with slow wits.

As the meal for the Jarl was prepared, his men crafted the hammers he had instructed them. He told them to practice the bashing with the hammers while he just watched them, feeling elated at the obedience of his men.

His eyes wandered to the sky, seeing the sun slowly descending, he thought back to the whore who would warm his bed again.

"My dear Ser." Speak of the whore and she shall appear, he mocked in jest as he turned around.

"Brynhildr, m'lady." The words were difficult to speak, even if he obviously hated it to call her a Lady. Yet it was necessary to play the act of a smitten poor knight for the villagers.

Some even stopped their work and watched with bated breath while he trampled on his pride. Instead, he gritted his teeth, ignoring the burning sensation he always got if someone insulted him.

All for the House of Lannister, all he did was only for his legacy.

He asked a courtesy, "How do you fare, Lady Brynhildr?" Hence his mask was perfectly crafted for her.

She was blushing like a maiden over the moon. He might be rusty, but his youthful charms should be enough for her slow wits.

He heard the gasps of others and of course -

"Oh! Oh! I am Lady Lannister, too!" The little ungrateful chit dared to presume herself his _noble daughter_ , his fury was difficult to reign in, but he reminded himself of the necessity like his work under the Mad King.

He pushed air out of his lungs, sighing, he masked that with a tired smile all the while ignoring the little chit as he said, "I find that a walk around the village will get me a better view of the situation. Mayhaps the fine lady can escort her knight." These words were specially crafted for her fairytale delusions.

She nodded, heat visible on her cheeks, as he offered her the arm which she took almost hastily, clamping on it like a wild animal. His lips curled at that, a whore was a whore, he thought in disdain.

They walked arm in arm, her swooning over the moon while he masked his uneasiness with a smile which did not reach his eyes.

And of course, "My Daddy is a Knight!" The _grating voice_ of his annoyance, buzzing like a _fly_ around him. Unfortunately, he could not swat her away, so he would only endure these insolences. There would be a reckoning, he promised.

He saw how the Village Elder put the corpses to use to which he approved. Hagar's age might make him frail, but his wits were sharp as a dagger. A fine tool for precise instructions, not the likes of Gregory Clegane, The Mountain That Rides.

Although, he certainly needed another Mountain who shall be the unwieldy hammer against his foes who would stand in his way to greatness. But that was a thought for another day.

The once bright blue sky with the sun at its peak gave way to the night, illuminated by the fire of his men - torches - although, they had certainly the fire in them which could light the sky ablaze.

His nose turned in disgust as he smelled the stench of the whore as if she did not bathe herself, a reminder that he himself also did not.

"You have not bathed, Brynhildr?" He asked, trying not to sound disgusted, but a little slipped apparently as she averted her eyes in shame.

"There's no shame, my Lady. Let us take refuge in the river." The day before he was too tired to care about the filthy stench, but there was no excuse for such uncivilized behaviour. Well, if he slept with this whore, she should clean herself thoroughly.

He led her to the river with a torch he was offered by one of the villagers, a subtle gesture of obedience which he liked.

In front of the clear water, he saw his youthful reflection again as he took off his clothes while she did the same, showing him her slender yet curvaceous body.

Tywin stared a little, yet he was not impressed at all. Mayhaps the harvest was not well.

He submerged himself in the water, feeling the cold, yet refreshing feeling. The whore's arms snaked around him, hugging him as he heard her gasp and trembling a little.

Instead, he ignored her and let himself relieve the tension he had the whole time he awoke in these strange lands, even in the tender embrace of her. His thoughts circled back on Tyrion, the _Kinslayer_ who he should have had killed. Indeed, yet he died shamefully in the privy, dead was his legacy in Westeros.

Tywin halted his thoughts as he felt her fingers brushing down.

After the bath, the whore did not stank after filth anymore which helped his nose, thank the gods for little mercies.

In the shack, he laid with her, embracing her like a lover, as if she was _his Joanna_. **Never.** He was just using her body, nothing more, of that he was utterly convinced.

The little chit even dared to speak in her sleep, calling him _her father_. Ah, he was too patient. Apparently, death made him soft, mused Tywin, trying to push the blame. He was certain of that. He would never tolerate this weakness of him. Even the thought of it, he denied strongly.

Tywin Lannister of the once Great House Lannister did never fell prey to a whore's charm in his whole life.

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 **Author's Note:  
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 _A short comedic chapter delving more deeply into the mind of Ser Tywin Lannister, a mere Knight. The stage is set.  
_

 ** _Tywin Lannister_**

 _I do not believe that he had any problems with a whore as like with Shae and the allusion that as Hand under Aerys he visited whores in secret after the death of his wife. Although, it's debateable if it was either Tywin or Jon Arryn. But it would add deep to Tywin's character.  
_

 _However, he hated it if whores besmirched his public image like Tyrion who had the title as a Whoremonger because of his public whoring. That was the reason why his father was also a laughing stock, after all, Tytos used mistresses in public, shaming his House._

 _Well, of course when - not if - he regained his standing, perhaps he would burn the village down to hide the shame that he slept with a common girl._

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 _Tell me in the review what you think of him. I'm all ears for other opinions if they are well argued, of course._


	5. Interlude I

**Author's Note:**

 _A short interlude about various characters you would want to know. I tried my hands on writing this interlude to give you a little insight. Don't worry, the plot will pick up pace.  
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 ** _EDIT: Added horizontal lines as divider_**

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 **Interlude I**

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Jarl Dirigun was excited, he could not believe that another war against Swadia broke out. It was an opportunity to gather more glory for him.

He needed more martial merits, a chance he would take with all his might as it would decide his future with his lovely Thera.

His head turned to the side, seeing his sister's sad face, pained him but the war was necessary for them.

She saw him looking at her and reciprocated a smile reserved for a lover which he was. He slowed his horse to a strut until he was close by her and said, "Sister, don't be afraid. It will just be a little adventure like we did years ago." She smiled, remembering the adventures they did as children. Her lovely lips twitched as she glanced at him and whispered, "The cave should be nearby. Mayhaps, my gallant brother will escort me there?"

He looked around, watching how his twenty bloodied Huscarls, veterans of the last war, marched in formation. It filled him with pride and confidence that he had such a strong force who could be trusted to hold out for long.

He would convince his father through his earned merits in the war, fortunately, his mother was on their side, even if other Jarls would disdain them. The Jarls could laugh at them, but they would never truly understand their love. To this day, his father detested his relationship with his sister.

Jarl Dirigun would never let his sister betrothed to another, but him. He would show them all. He would proclaim his love over the corpses of Swadian Knights.

"Of course, my dear sister," responded he, feeling all too eager to feel her touch again after the exhausting ride. He turned to his men and addressed them, "Men! We will take rest!"

Thera put her hand on his and whispered close to his ears, "I like it how you command." His grin widened as he felt her hand brushing intentional down there.

Her voice was husky and tingled with lust, "I want you to command me in the cave, my dear brother." He felt the hardness, unfortunately, he could only bear it until they were in the cave.

Jarl Dirigun tried to distract himself by watching his men preparing the camp as he dismounted his horse with his sister. His hands brushed against her behind, getting a little sweet giggle out of her.

It made his heart jump uncontrollable as he envisioned his future with her.

"Thane! I do not need you. Stay back," ordered he as his sister grabbed hold of his arm, pushing her bust to him, making him feel the softness.

"As you wish, my Jarl," said his Thane giving Jarl Dirigun a look which he ignored and led his sister to the cave.

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"Erik, we need more wood for the campfire." Thane Simon ordered the Huscarl besides him as he stared at the back of his Jarl who vanished with Lady Thera between the trees.

As Erik went to gather more wood, he went into the deep forest, following the trail of his Jarl and Lady Thera. Jarl Reamald had tasked him with watching his son's steps closely, a task he would fulfil with any cost. There was another reason he took this task.

They could not be together. He was a Thane, a minor guard, not even a noble while she was a minor noble, but a noble he lusted after.

He shook himself out of the treacherous thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Thane Simon was just a Thane under the employ of Jarl Reamald. It would be a serious breach of trust to try to court her.

His heart pained at that, yet he knew he could only stand aside for her future husband, someone of noble blood. He may be foolish, but he yearned after a fairytale, even in the face of the reality.

Thane Simon sighed bitterly as he neared the cave entrance with silent steps, rattling his armour little by little. As he was close by, he could hear suspicious sounds, no, moaning and grunting. His hand went to the right, gripping the handle of his axe. He tensed as he heard a feminine scream; in his daze, he could not recognize if it was a scream of pleasure or pain.

He took the risk to peek in and...

He froze as he could not quite comprehend the sight in front of him. He glanced at his hand and saw that he pulled out his axe. The very sight of them in the act was burned in his memory as the burning began. Yet he ground his teeth as he ignored the feeling.

Slowly, he backed away, his eyes wide as the thoughts circled around. He needed to inform Jarl Reamald as his duty demanded it. Even if he wanted to behead Jarl Dirigun for his perversion, his honour would not permit it.

He found his way fast to the camp, but the pain in his heart was all too great, more so than finding out that she was betrothed to another noble.

As he closed on the camp, one of the Huscarls, Erik, saw him and ran to him, delivering a message, "Thane Simon, one of our men found out that we were watched by someone." Simon narrowed his eyes at that information, it was disconcerting that someone was watching them.

"Do you think it was a bandit?" asked he while watching as Erik just shrugged his shoulders.

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Through the thick forest, the villager ran with his nimble legs, dodging trees right and left while following a path he knew quite well where it would lead him.

As the last stretch of trees revealed the busy village, he slowed down, getting his blood down as he walked to his father, a broad man even in the face of a bad harvest.

His father saw him coming and asked, "Did you found the Jarl?" He nodded at that to which his father told him to make haste to the Knight.

His pained legs didn't take him long until he was in front of the Ser, a handsome but intimidating young man.

He paused until his breath was even again, then spoke, "M'lord, Jarl is camping some league away."

The Ser's icy stare held him in place, locking him as he stilled, trying to make himself tiny, until the Ser asked, "How many men?" He shuddered at the cold tone but answered, "I counted nineteen Huscarls."

He risked a glance at the Ser as he hummed, seeing the Ser closing his eyes for a moment, relieved him of the pressure he faced by his gaze.

"Ser Daddy!" Before the knight could open his mouth, the sweet girl of Brynhildr shouted eager at him, trying to get the Ser to look at her.

"How are you called?" The cold voice of the knight shook him out of the silly thoughts.

His answer was, "Bjoern, m'lord." The Ser nodded thoughtfully while being attacked by the girl with her arms around his leg.

Bjoern couldn't hold his chuckle back which got a furious look from the lord, silencing him as he cowered under the harsh stare, fixing him.

"Stop that instant, Mary!" The stare she received was harsher than any others he saw the lord giving.

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Instead, Mary pouted showing her adorable cheeks, oh, she knew how to play her cuteness.

"Never!" She declared with a grin, hidden as she cuddled her face on his hard legs while her small arms hugged her father's knee.

She felt a hand on her head clamping down a little too hard but the pressure eased immediately. She looked up and saw her frowning father looking down at her, so she struck a tongue out.

Mary found his change of face funny, so funny that she giggled, making his face bright red like the roses she liked to gather.

Her mother slept with this Ser, so he must be her Ser Daddy, a knight, her mother told her, who brought justice against the evil men in the south.

It was like in the tales the bards so often sung when they visited the village.

In the end, she released him and ran away, searching for her friends and bragging about her Ser Daddy.

Mary crashed into her mother, looked up and saw her stern face, but it gave quickly away to a smile.

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"Mary, please." Brynhildr admonished her little daughter, the sunshine who escorted her ever since the day. Yet she missed the touch of a male which, fortunately, she got from the noble knight, Ser Lannister.

Ah, how sweet he was, she thought back the nights ago.

Although he was little disgruntled at her daughter, she thought that he would soon warm himself to her little sunshine. Her daughter didn't know her father, but she would have a father who would protect her like he would, the man she lost in a war.

Brynhildr's eyes watched her Ser, a man so chivalrous like the stories told her, a man whose body was just amazing to feel. Even if she felt herself a little ashamed, but she couldn't live without a man. Her daughter needed a father who would care.

"Brynhildr, how was he?" asked her dear friend, the wife of Bjoern, in a hushed tone. Brynhildr knew her friend well enough to know that she liked to gossip.

"He knew his way with the sword," answered she, "in many ways." Getting her friend to giggle while she could only try to hold her blush back at the thought.

"You know, you should try your tongue. It will make every male crazy." Brynhildr glanced at her and saw her satisfied smile, certainly thinking about her husband.

"You should be ashamed, Carla," said Brynhildr in jest as she considered the advice on how to please the Ser. Carla was ever the perverted one of them. Even as they were but children, she would ever whisper some shameful things, earning her the title.

Carla smirked at her and said, "I got Bjoern by the balls with that." Brynhildr didn't glance at her for bragging. Instead, she rolled her eyes at her friend's antics.

"Lady Lannister, you've got yourself a fine Ser." Her friend's teasing got her cheeks heating up as she spluttered.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _The interlude was needed to flesh some characters and give them a motivation, you could say. It was a little hard to write as that was my first try on Interludes._

 _Although, I did a little research on how to write Interludes. I hope it flowed good enough. Another thing I tried was to subtle jump from point of view to another without saying directly that I jumped, but implying. It was hard, but, honestly, I like the subtle use of the name for that reason._

 _Of course, the characters in Calradia aren't well fleshed out which I am working on, after all, the game didn't need to flesh the characters so that player could enjoy (reasons why many modders added more dialogue script to 'flesh' particular characters in the world)._

 _I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly hope I did a good job, but well who knows._


	6. Chapter IV

**Author's Note:**

 _You know the drill. You find some mistakes, you can tell me. Something confuse you, tell me. There's some action in this chapter, have fun._

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 **Welcome To Aldelen**

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Tywin Lannister stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes surveyed the rows of men facing him. His piercing stare held them in place while he closed on one of his men, a tall but skinny man, yet the arms told him a story of strength.

His eyes focused on him, trying to discern the readiness of this man who did not move a muscle while facing him.

"Give him the training sword, " said Tywin, "I shall test him." His voice was heard by all, an order which was carried out by the man who he shall test as the wooden sword from Hagar was given to his opponent.

Tywin saw the grim look of the man who faced him with little training but enough will. As he waited, he saw the man gripping the handle tight, holding the sword too high for his liking.

"Strike at me!" His voice brought the man out of his stupor. Hearing a great cry, he awaited the charge of his man with his sword aloof in front of him, pointing at the opponent.

He bashed the sword easily away, giving him a chance to strike with the side of the sword at the head of his foolish opponent. The fool dropped to the ground, cradling his head all the while ignoring the sword he lost in the exchange.

Tywin sneered at the pathetic display while he considered to just strike at him, again and again until he would understand to never drop his weapon.

"Never drop your weapon, fool!" He raised his voice as he kicked the sword on the ground to the opponent who grabbed it and slowly stood up.

"Again!" He rather commanded coldly, having no patience with foolish errands, adjusting his sword a little to the left, pointing slightly down the ground. As he waited for his opponent to gather his bearing, he considered which of his green levy would be ready for his Lannister Guard he envisioned.

His opponent was wary which he approved, although even a dog could learn that he should be cautious, not announcing his attacks with war cries. His hope wasn't shattered as he brought his sword up, pushing the opponent's sword, leading the opponent's hand near him so he could grab.

To the apparent surprise of the opponent, Tywin clasped on the opponent's hand and held the handle of the sword in place while he freed his sword. With the sword, he tapped lightly on the head of the opponent.

He announced, "Dead." At least the levy didn't drop the sword in desperation. It would make his effort wasted which he could not stand, after all, wasting a Lord's time was a death sentence.

Tywin looked around, staring into the eyes of his men and had the pleasure to see them not cowering anymore. They weren't ready for war, but surely for the Jarl.

"Men of Aldelen. As I stand in front of you all, I see the fire which burns cold in your deepest heart." He paused to increase the tension similar to a Mummer in his act.

"Because I'm looking at an army. Not just any army. The army." Tywin took another pause, letting the tension getting to his men, enveloping them until they were burning.

"There will be pain. And there will be blood," said he in a whisper that the winds carried over his men. With steady gait, he walked in front of his men as he raised his voice, "As we turn to one another, each and every one of us will deliver."

"It shan't be the steel in our hands that will carry our victory against the tyrant."

After Tywin took a deep breath, he finished the speech of morale, "It shall be the fire in every one of us." His men roared like Nords they are while the ground trembled with their continuous pounding.

He knew that his sword was now sharpened. It just needed to be bloodied on the Jarl, mused he while pulling out his sword of its scabbard, letting the sunlight blind others as it was reflected by the polished blade.

Before he could utter his next words, the attention was dragged to a young man, Bjoern, running to him. He saw him almost stumbling on a branch to which he gave Tywin a sheepish look.

Tywin took it in stride as he just glared at the clumsy man as he hurried his way to him.

"Report." The order froze Bjoern until he could gather his bearings and told him with his back straight, "The Jarl and his twenty men should arrive shortly."

Tywin ignored him, turned to his men and said with his sword high, "You know your roles to play. The Mummers' farce shall begin." And unsheathed his sword while his men moved, acknowledging his order.

He smirked slightly as he watched the men carrying out his order. A pleasant sight for every commander, more so for him. It filled his once empty pride, washing the shame away, yet it wasn't enough for him.

His house would be clamoured by all in due time. But this time that shall be enough.

"Walk with me," said Tywin as his heavy boots met the dirt, giving way to deep footprints. Bjoern obeyed him as he followed with slower steps behind him.

Tywin's feet led him to the women who were preparing the feast as they worked. A woman used a knife to cut a limb apart, throwing it to her neighbour who took the limb and butchered it while others gathered the meat from them. A distasteful work, yet a necessary one to poison the Jarl's guards for his men to have any chances to kill them.

He turned his head to the side and saw Bjoern trying to hold back the vomit to which Tywin clasped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Go on. Let it out." Bjoern nodded in relief as he dropped to the ground and let out the content of his stomach.

Tywin smelled the stench, making him crinkle his nose in disgust as he turned away from the unsightly sight. It didn't take long until the retching noises stopped and the young man stood up with a face full of uneasiness.

"We shan't eat from that. Let the Jarl and his men have the pleasure." Bjoern gave him an uneasy smile, more of a grimace but it was only natural of a green man who never knew war.

It wouldn't eclipse his works of the Red Wedding but it would come near to its status.

Tywin continued his walk around the village, watching how his men trained with wooden poles.

One, in particular, the boy who was cheered by the raped girl, had the potential to be a knight.

The boy blocked the next hit, used the force to let the opponent's pole crash into the ground while he used the butt of his to smash it into the face of his opponent, winding him. A death blow, mused Tywin as he watched the boy dancing around his opponent.

"What do you think of the boy, Bjoern?" asked he, curious of Bjoern's opinion.

"Ulfrik is talented." Tywin scoffed at that obvious fact. Even a blind man could have seen that. How he used his smaller build to his advantage while luring the opponent into a trap where he could strike without using much force, was a talent to be recruited, mused Tywin as he observed others matches, seeing none of that potential in others.

The boy, Ulfrik, would make a fine knight in the future. Fortunately, the future wouldn't be far off as his first of his legends would be written by killing the Jarl and his Huscarls.

"The Jarl is coming!" A yell brought him out of his musings. He saw how Bjoern stood still like a statue until he masked his fury with a frown. A smirk graced Tywin as he could imagine the bloody night after the feast.

His feet led him out of the villagers, followed by Bjoern and other villagers until they could see the banner of Jarl Dirigun, coloured yellow and black.

Tywin stood still, watching the Huscarls moving orderly, step by step, with their big round shields at the side and their battle axes ready. He could see the steel helmets gleaming in the sun, showing it to be polished.

As their heavy steel boots pounded like a drum, he could discern the rattle of the armour giving noise to the march. Indeed, a disciplined force, even in such small numbers they could give his men a beating. Which was, of course, the reason why he decided to poison them.

He fell to his knees followed by others, even as it galled him, yet he was in front of a Jarl, a dead man walking to be sure. Although his head was bowed, he could see out of the corner of his eyes that the Jarl, dressed in the same armour like his Huscarls, dismounted from his white horse.

The Jarl watched them with a self-satisfying smile on his face until his sister, the resemblance obvious to him, said, "Brother, I am hungry."

"Alright, stand up!" Tywin obeyed hesitantly before he stepped forward and said with his head bowed in respect, "My Jarl, we prepared a feast."

Jarl Dirigun glanced at him and nodded while motioning for him to lead into the village.

Tywin walked followed by the Jarl and his entourage leading them into the village.

The Jarl asked, "Your name?" Tywin gritted his teeth at the insolence, yet he answered, "Tywin Lannister, my Jarl."

"What a strange name," said the Jarl, "Perhaps you came from the south."

Tywin nodded and said, "Yes, I travelled from the south." Fortunately, the Jarl didn't seem to notice his slip of disrespect.

"Ser Daddy!" His face gave way to an ugly grimace as if he tasted a sour fruit. However, the Jarl's sister laughed to his chagrin and dropped down to the level of the little chit.

She said, "What's your name, little girl?" The little chit smiled brightly, too brightly for his taste and answered merrily, "Mary, daughter of Ser Lannister." He couldn't believe the insolence of this chit, yet he could not do anything to stop her babble.

"What a beautiful name," said she while patting the head of this annoyance.

The Jarl turned to him, asked with interest, "You're a knight?" Although the little chit could not hold her mouth, he could certainly use that to advance his ploy.

"Yes, my Jarl. I was knighted by my father who died in the war against Swadia." His origin was carefully crafted for the Jarl's curiosity. At the left side, he saw a Huscarl giving a doubtful look which he ignored as he continued, "I was robbed by bandits on my travels."

"Ser Daddy brought justice to the bandits!" His apparent daughter once again opened her foolish mouth.

"Did bandits attack the village?" asked Jarl Dirigun, instantly halting his movements in shock.

"Yes, my Jarl, " answered Tywin, "but do not fear as I vanquished them with the noble help of some villagers." A line taken out of a mummers act, mocked Tywin as he stood his grounds all the while ignoring some sceptical looks from the Huscarls.

Jarl Dirigun laughed while Tywin's hand aggressively caressed the pommel. It wasn't that he was nervous, no, he was murderous angry because the laugh reminded him of Aerys who ever mocked him in court.

Yet, a reminder that he was not to be feared in these strange lands. His Rains of Castamere did not exist for the bards to be played.

He took a deep breath, calming himself down so he could manage the soon to be dead Jarl.

"I have my doubts of you, Ser Lannister." The Jarl dragged his family name, an insult he would not stand.

So he said, "A duel with one of your Huscarls will certainly convince you, my Jarl." It was a little risky, he admitted, yet his pride did not want to let go.

The Jarl smiled and beckoned the Huscarl who doubted him from the beginning while saying, "This is my Thane. Thane Simon shall duel you. If you prove your worth, I shall recognize your title."

Thane Simon sneered at him, but Tywin took it in stride as he unsheathed his sword while the Thane readied his axe.

Tywin held his sword in his right hand pointed a little upwards as he took a combat stance he was since drilled in his childhood. The opponent positioned the shield so that it protected half of his body while he was facing Tywin slightly to the side with the shield in the forefront.

The Huscarl obviously knew how to fight one-handed sword fighters, yet Tywin also knew how to fight warriors with big round shields, after all, he met them on the Battlefield of the Stepstones. He would use his mobility against such an opponent to get into his blind spot which was the big round shield.

Both fighters stilled and stared at the opponent until the spoken word of the Jarl cut through, "Begin!"

Tywin sprung into motion, instantly rushing to the side of the shield, yet his opponent brought the axe down at him to which he responded with a slash of his sword, pushing the axe to the other direction.

Unfortunately, the Huscarl was prepared and used the shield to bash into Tywin, yet he responded by repeatedly hammering down with his sword, using short swings, again and again, forcing the Huscarl to abandon his attack and retreat a backwards.

He didn't let go, instead, he continued the assault not letting the shield bearer have a break. He slashed from the left, letting it deflect from his opponent's shield so that he could retarget the sword at the right side, forcing the Huscarl again to the defense.

Tywin was hardly out of breath, but he heard his opponent panting heavily behind the shield as he was forced to concentrate all his efforts on holding back the blows. A mistake as the Huscarl would soon tire out while Tywin could continue his assault.

As another blow was deflected to the side, he used the momentum of it to change direction and slashed downwards which got blocked by the shield again, but the force was enough for the Thane to fell to his knees.

"Enough!" The Jarl's voice stopped Tywin in his motion, pulling the sword back and sheathing it while he turned and saw that the Jarl was impressed by him.

"A magnificent display, I dare say!" Jarl Dirigun clapped with his sister loudly, followed by the cheering smallfolk.

He bowed respectfully at the praise and said, "Welcome to Aldelen."

The Jarl smiled and raised his voice over the cheering of the smallfolk, "What a great welcome!"

"Your father is indeed a knight, little Mary," said his sister while ruffling the child's head affectionately.

"My Ser Daddy is the best!" The little chit continued to be an annoyance, yet Tywin just sighed and ignored it while he led the party to the centre of the village where they have prepared the feast.

"Ah, I'm smelling the tasteful meat already," said the Jarl, "Please take part of the feast, Ser Lannister."

Tywin nodded in acceptance and took a seat at the great table while the Jarl and his entourage did the same.

"There's nothing to be said, but to enjoy the feast." As they enjoyed their meat, Tywin didn't eat but talked with the Thane besides him.

"Thane Simon, an interesting title, " said he. "What does it entail?"

"It was once considered a minor noble title, but unfortunately, it's now considered a title for a mere bodyguard. Nothing more." That was certainly interesting to know -

A cup landed with a dull noise on the ground, turning Tywin's attention to the Jarl who kissed his sister intimately to which he thought that the rumours indeed have some worth.

Yet as he turned around, facing the Thane again, he saw how jealousy clouded his face. Ah, so a Thane madly in love with a noble's daughter, mocked Tywin slightly amused.

The feast went on until night broke.

The Jarl tried to stand up, but instead fell down on all fours and vomited to the ground, followed by all who ate the food.

It was time to end this feast, thought Tywin triumphantly as he took the first step and unsheathed his sword, startling the Thane who stared at him incredulously to which he just grimly smiled as he stabbed the Thane.

His men fell onto the Huscarls like a pack of lions, stabbing into their bodies repeatedly all the while bloodying the ground. He went to the Jarl with his bloodied sword and took the Jarl's chin with his left hand, turning his face to his.

He held eye contact as he stabbed deeply into the Jarl's stomach, gutting him like a fish as he pulled the sword out with the intestines hanging.

The screams of others dying men accompanied the night.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of the once Great House Lannister, spat at the corpse, disrespecting the dead Jarl as he pulled onto the hairs of his sister and bashed her little head onto the wooden table.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _I did some research onto HEMA fighting styles for the fight scenes which I hope I did justice to history. And the speech was definitely inspired by the Motivational Speech Charles Dances gave on Rugby World Cup 2015._ _Of course, I changed some things and copied words which would fit into the context.  
_

 _Cannibalism leads to disease obviously, although there are methods to decrease that certainty but it just isn't healthy if you have a better alternative._

 ** _Tywin Lannister_**

 _"The gods made and shaped this man[Tywin Lannister] to rule..." - Grandmaester Pycelle_

 _"Tywin was big, even when he was little..." - Genna Lannister_

 ** _You all know where this does lead in the end. Give me a 'All Hail Lannister' in the review. After all, Tywin Lannister took his first steps...  
_**


	7. Chapter V - End of Arc I

**Author's Note:**

 _The chapter was a little difficult to write because of the writer's block, but I got it finished at least.  
_

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 **House Lannister**

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Tywin tore a piece from Lady Thera's fine blue dress, held his right hand firmly on the grip of the sword while he used the cloth to wipe off the blood on the blade.

The blood coloured the blue cloth, making it purple as he continued to wipe until the blade was once more stainless. The steel shone in the night as torches flickered and shadows morphed.

"The night is indeed dark," whispered Tywin, "and full of terrors." His whisper was drowned by the miserable screams and the wet gurgle of dying men.

Stannis Baratheon was a fool for believing in the religion of the Lord of Light, R'hllor. He heard the Shadowbinder was a pretty chit, perhaps he had chosen her for her cunt.

As the slaughter continued, he watched them at work. His men let their fury out on the Huscarls, even going so far as to continue stabbing a corpse over and over.

In the end, he took the armour off the corpse of Jarl Dirigun, a finely made Gambeson over the chainmail and exchanged it with his current leather armour.

"To the winner goes the spoils," muttered Tywin. Although it was distasteful to dirty his hands on a corpse, he was not a lord anymore. And the reputation he cultivated his lifetime did not exist. He wasn't the Lord Lannister whom the smallfolk trembled in his mere presence alone. He wasn't the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands who was a player in the Game of Thrones.

He scoffed at the silly thoughts, useless, distracting him from the greater goal of all. After all, he took his first step on the board of the new game. And impatience was not him at all.

Tywin Lannister paused and abruptly laughed without restraint. He just couldn't help himself anymore. His mad laughing ringed out in the night as others were slaughtered until it changed to that of a mirthful chuckle.

As his chuckle died down, he patted the corpse and found a money pouch on the waist which he opened. He found strange silver coins which he couldn't identify, but he supposed they've got some worth as the noble had them in quantity.

He didn't shit gold like Aerys had said, however, he knew how to change these silver coins to gold. An alchemist he wasn't, but these coins could be of use to get political capital. Gold was just a symbol of power to him.

Well, it was food for thought after he obtained his noble title.

It wasn't long before silence reigned once again.

"Get the armour off the corpses." His voice disturbed the silence. The giving order was to obeyed by his men as they stripped the corpses.

What a mess. He scrunched his nose at the coppery smell which decided to invade his nose with force.

His ears picked the unsteady footsteps of a person behind. His right hand went to the grip of his sword as he turned around.

"S-Ser Lannister, what should we do with the c-corpses?" asked Bjoern who could fit right with the corpses, so pale was he.

"Dig a deep hole for them."

"L-Lady Thera?"

"Our hostage." Bjoern nodded frantically as he did the bidding of his unsaid orders.

"Ulfrik!" He raised his voice and continued with slightly lesser volume, "Stop stabbing the corpse."

Ah, the perfect tool for his messy adventures in the future. Mayhaps the spoiled girl could be killed off... It would surely let him mould the boy into his next Mountain.

Tywin found himself home under the tender care of his whore. Fortunately, the little girl was sleeping, or his headaches would be intensified by her silly babbles.

"S-Ser Daddy..." Of course, she murmured in her sleep.

Who would have thought that Tywin Lannister, the most feared man in the whole Seven Kingdoms and beyond, played to the whims of a little girl?

"You are called Ser Lannister. The peasants praise your name. Tell me why I shouldn't just behead you and pillage the village?"

Green background with two black axes crossed in the foreground showed the banner of this Count Beranz, a vassal of the Swadian King Harlaus.

"M'lord, I could gift you the Hrus Castle of Jarl Rayeck." Tywin kneed in front the commander of the Swadian Army, a little disgruntled, after all, he hated to bend his knees like a smallfolk and the speed of the army surprised him.

Unfortunately, he could not do anything as his army was barely trained and against more than ten thousand it would be suicide, even with the use of the terrain.

So he could only beg like a smallfolk. "You won't need the army to conquer the castle."

Count Beranz had a thoughtful look as he took a sip from his cup.

He said, "If you get me the castle, I shall name you Lord of this shit village. If not..." Tywin hid his grimace, smiling confidently at the Count but he promised vengeance for this disgrace. Never had someone threatened him in such fashion. Being in the mercy of a lowly lord was not in his dreams at all. If his children would have seen him...

"Yes, m'lord." He bit back the insults he had on the tip of his tongue. He did not want to lose everything he gained since waking up in these strange lands.

He was in a precarious situation, although, it was certainly better with the death of Jarl Dirigun. But the real legends would begin to be sung after he took the castle, for others an impossible task, yet he didn't bother with the queer looks anymore as it was his very plan from the beginning. The sister of Jarl Dirigun would play a vital role in the continuing mummers' act. He just needed to set the stage.

"With your command, I shall prepare my men." The Count waved him dismissive out of the tent, getting Tywin quite angry at the insult to his station.

He walked to his men who stood straight, even as some men of the Count spat in front of them, obviously insulting them heavily. However, his men were a disciplined bunch. Moons of repeated drilling beat them out of the insubordination and disobedience. And after the grand funeral of his fallen men, they would die for him with but a snap of his fingers.

"Men of Aldelen! The Swadians decided to not pillage our home." He paused, trying to gauge the reactions of his men. He wasn't disappointed as the gazes were hopeful. Who would want his wife or daughter be raped?

"Of course, a condition was offered. A castle is to be conquered." Now, hope gave way to fury, fortunately, his men could hold themselves.

"And I've got the right tools in front of me. We will conquer the castle. We will show them." His voice echoed like thunder as his levies' spirits were lifted. All men have pride.

He pulled his sword in a practised motion and pointed at the direction where he knew the castle was. "Ours is the castle!" His men followed him, repeating the line in a great war cry.

He turned his head and saw how the levies of the count were intimidated by his own men which got him indeed very pleased.

Fortunately, he convinced the Count that the females were needed for the ruse to work. Oh, they surely were needed in some capacity, but the stupid excuse of a noble thought nothing. He could have held them as hostages. How disappointing, yet it made his path easy which he liked.

His men disguised themselves as the Huscarls of Jarl Dirigun while the sister of the Jarl laid unconscious on the wagon. The wives and the children followed their march to the Hrus Castle. He estimated that his army would need only fifteen days to reach it. They've got enough food stored. Some stolen from the Count through the liberal use of women's cunts. It was to his advantages that he could convince the unmarried women to do their duties for the greater good of the village.

As he always had said: Every person, be it the noble or the lowest of the low, the smallfolk, they all could be bought at the right prices. The Village Elder would have him thinking that all unmarried women in the village were innocent. What a fool. Even married women. After all, his whore spread her legs for him which was to say others wouldn't do that for the right prices.

Hager was indeed a delusional fool, even with the greater knowledge he accumulated through travelling.

After some time he ordered them to halt. "We need to rest." His men prepared under themselves which ones would take the watch while the womenfolk used the time to prepare for the cooking.

"Bjoern, gather some men and hunt animals. I taught you already what you need to know." Bjoern nodded as he took five men who took a group of five each and hunted in the forest after animals.

"Hagar, come to me. Tell me about Jarl Rayeck," said Tywin as the Village Elder hurried to him.

"Jarl Rayeck is on good terms with Jarl Reamald." It could be that both Jarls agreed to bind their bloodlines with a marriage. The sister of Jarl Dirigun was an important key which made sense. Lady Thera was now more important than ever to his strategy of conquering the castle.

"I assume the Lady Thera would marry the son of Jarl Rayeck." Hagar opened his mouth but closed it as Tywin muted him with a glare, after all, it wasn't a question, no, a statement. He scoffed at the notion that his wits were slow like the little chit he had as an annoyance.

"Ser Daddy will defeat the evil knights in the castle!" Ah, he should not have thought that at all. Unfortunately, his hands were now bound tightly with the daughter and the wife. At least his act increased the morale.

However, there would be an opportunity to clean this filth, he just would have to wait for it.

Tywin saw the whore coming to him with a bowl, "The soup, my dear Ser."

He took the bowl and kissed her, fulfilling his act as the lovestruck fool. It was just an act he played like a mummer.

The journey was difficult with the womenfolk and the children, but they made way to the castle. It loomed over him in its ugly simplistic design.

"Halt! Who're you lot?" The guardsman on the gate shouted to them. He saw even the archers getting ready to release the arrows at any moment.

"Lady Thera was injured in the battle! Jarl Dirigun is hunting down the stragglers as we speak! These are refugees!" He watched how the guardsman talked to another and send the other guardsman off.

Fortunately, he did not need to wait any longer as the gates opened.

"You there, come with me," the guardsman said, "the Jarl wants a report."

Tywin followed the guardsman through a heavy wooden door. He saw men-at-arms guarding the hall. He would need them gone for his men to successfully conquer the castle.

At the end of the hall, the guardsman said to the two Huscarls guarding the giant wooden door, "The Jarl expects us." Both of them nodded and pushed the door open.

He followed the guardsman until both of them stood in front of the Jarl who sat on his wooden throne.

"My Jarl." The guardsman bowed and stepped aside.

Tywin knew how the game was played, so he stepped up and bend his knees. "Jarl Rayeck, we were ambushed by bandits before the Swadians fell onto us."

"He won the battle?" asked the Jarl.

With a grimace, he answered. "He won but lost many. He is in need of reinforcement." That would get the castle empty.

"Jarl Rayeck -" The Jarl on the throne interrupted the other Jarl in the room. "Of course, I will send all my men. We're after all family." Tywin held back his smirk which threatened to emerge.

"What happened to Lady Thera?" asked Jarl Reamald, the father of her.

"She fell from the horse as some bandits tried to take her hostage." His words sparked the fury of the Jarl.

"Thane! Gather some men. Hunt these scums! I want them all hanged!"

"By your command, my Jarl."

Tywin's lips twitched at that.

"Tell me your name." He obeyed the order without hesitation, "Ser Tywin Lannister, my Jarl."

"A strange name. Are you perhaps a foreigner?"

"Yes, my Jarl. I came from the south," Tywin answered.

"Very well. Perhaps the Ser can tell us some of his stories on our table." Ah, an invitation, an honour for a mere knight. That really wasn't subtle at all.

"Of course, I shall oblige my Jarl."

"Good. I'm very curious." The Jarl called after a servant who would bring to his guest chamber.

A knock disturbed him, he stood from the bed and called out, "Enter!"

"M'lord, this person said she's your wife."

Well, at least a whore to ease his sleep. "Yes, she is... my wife."

"Ser Daddy!" Of course.

The servant closed the door.

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The night was... There were no words for it. His so-called little daughter did not let him have any rest.

He grabbed the cup and drowned its content. Ah, at least good wine.

"Ser Lannister, I heard the wife was rough on you." The Jarl laughed at him. He laughed at him. He would rue the day Tywin destroyed his bloodline completely. He promised.

"Yes, she's a little too... much." His men laughed. He smoothed his frown into a slight smile while everyone laughed at him. At him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a servant coming near the Jarl and whispering to him. "Good. Good. The men will reinforce your son, my friend."

"You have my thanks." And that was the time for him to act.

Tywin Lannister stood up, his men prepared themselves with their hands on the hilts.

He went near the surprised Jarl until his face could touch the Jarl's if he leaned forward. With a small movement, his dagger was out and with much force he struck into the Jarl's fat belly. May he die painfully.

As he pierced him, his men followed him into the fight, the swords out already before the enemies. Twenty men were enough for the surprised nobles.

And thus the real feast has begun.

The morrow after, Tywin Lannister bend the knee once again in front of a meagre Count who elevated him. "Rise, Ser Tywin of House Lannister, Lord of Aldelen."

"I pledge my fealty." As if... the count would never earn his loyalty.

"Now the Hrus Castle belongs to the Kingdom of Swadia." Count Beranz smirked.

He told Tywin, "King Harlaus will reward me. Of course, I shall tell him of your efforts."

After he was dismissed, he spat to the ground and sneered. As if the Count would spare some thoughts about him to tell the King of his efforts. He knew how such vile creatures played the game.

The House Lannister stood once more in the ranks of nobility.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _That wraps our smallfolk arc. He's not a smallfolk anymore which means that now it begins. Managing his fief. His Lannister guards. Realpolitics. Court intrigue. Occasional border incursions. And all that.  
_


	8. Chapter VI

**Author's Note:**

 _The beginning of the next arc. People told me that they liked the added comedy twist with the little girl Mary, so she will be something of a fixture of stability in Tywin's life even if he never wanted it. This chapter of course will delve another layer deeper into his very mind._

 _Personally, in my opinion, every man in power lost something of himself that was the man before. Naturally, the same with the fairer sex.  
_

 _ **EDIT:** Mount and Blade II: Bannerlord Beta confirmed!_

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 **Lord of Aldelen**

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Being a Lord was more than merely exercising the petty rights, instead, it was a call to lead the smallfolk like a shepherd would lead his sheep. Of course, sheep regularly faced danger from the wolves.

Wolves. It could be bandits. An enemy army. Other nobles. Or even a lowborn who thought himself above his station. A danger as any. If they couldn't be ruthlessly squashed before it would be too late, the authority - given right of the Lord - would lose respect. To lose respect meant walking like a smallfolk but dressed in the finest silk like a Lord. Tytos would know that very well. His father, the greatest fool in history.

It was the natural order of the living world. Nobles guided the peasants. Only men of noble blood could lead the unruly mob that was the smallfolk. Any which went against the natural order must be brought to heel like wild rabid animals, its line of mud erased from the annals, its name forbidden, its deeds tainted, till nothing but ashes remained.

Tywin Lannister was never a smallfolk, his blood remained pure as ever, the noble blood of House Lannister. Lann the Clever was of noble blood. Nothing less. After all, the House Lannister ruled the Westerlands since its rise. Only a House which was destined to lead could rule.

He repeated: Wolves were a danger. They take many faces. He knew such as the Reyne and Tarbeck tried to undo the ancient dynasty of Lannister by usurping it through his weak foolish father. Tywin brought them to heel. His iron fist grabbed them by the throats as he slowly squeezed the lives of thousands out. His tales of common sense spun like webs over every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. A weak Lord begets ambitious vassals. So he would be strong. His vassals feared him. Another rose in rebellion who was silenced with nothing but a bard playing the Rains of Castamere.

A lion did not concern himself with the opinion of sheep. The smallfolk would do their duty since birth which was to kneel in front of their very Lord. The opinions of them would never matter.

That was the reason he stood in front of the sleeping little chit who dared to call him her father. His blade touched her unmarred pale skin. Yet... His hand did not want to listen to its master. Hesitation.

There were many reasons he needed to kill off the whore and her child. It was a slight to his own House, the noble House Lannister. His blood would be diluted. The whore was pregnant, he could see her belly protruding. A bastard would be born. Another slight against his House. A slight his new rising House would carry forever. The nobles would laugh at him, insult him even to his face. His house words wouldn't be taken seriously.

It would spread like rumours through all the lands in Calradia. His reputation would be besmirched again if he did not cut off the rot. It would be easy to kill the child in her sleep. After that, he would just cut the whore's throat. No need to do something distasteful as stabbing the babe in her belly like Lorch. Without the mother's support, the child would be gone.

Unfortunately, that would also influence the morale of his Lannister guard. He could blame the deaths of them to some bandit, yet that would be an even greater shame. The Lord of Aldelen couldn't even protect his wife and child, all would whisper under their breaths.

He would not be the second coming of Tytos.

Tywin Lannister had decided. He breathed deeply in as he raised his sword. He brought it down, yet stopped as the blade shone, reflecting an object in the shack. His curiosity sparked. He followed the light and saw under a wolf fur pelt the ring.

His fingers touched the cold steel as he brought it to his face. An insignia, a noble's ring. He froze as a thought struck him.

Brynhildr could be the daughter of a noble. Unfortunately, she did not divulge more on her parents since they rutted.

Her House could be either destroyed by the enemies or it was exiled. Well, well, well. It appeared she did have her use. He would not kill them, yet. Until he could make out the bigger picture of the board.

She and her daughter would make useful tools for his ambitions. He would not discard them now that they could be used to further his House. He grimaced at the thought of having the little chit as a daughter.

Yet, sometimes it amused him, the girl's silliness. That he admitted.

He glanced down at his sword which trembled in his grip. He sheathed the sword in its scabbard. Not today at least. His hand clenched around the ring as he put it into his pouch. She would be forced to see him after she found the ring missing.

As a Lord of Aldelen, he had many duties to perform. In times of need, the smallfolk looked up to the nobles for guidance. He would manage the fief as it was his responsibility to make it prosperous. It would be the new seat of his House. After all, the legends began in this very place like the legend of Lann the Clever who obtained Casterly Rock.

He would build it.

Tywin would need to send some men to inspect the mountains after veins. A gold mine would be preferable, but too dangerous to have as a minor House. In this case, steel was worth more. His men would need to better armoured as he was at the new border of the Nords who would very like it to raid his fief.

Count Beranz would, of course, reinforce him with his own troops, however, he did not trust the Count at all. He would play the loyal vassal until an opportunity appeared for him to betray the Count.

The Count was a weak Lord. It stood to reason that he was the ambitious vassal who would rebel against his Lord. He would be successful when he struck.

Tywin Lannister could wait. He was a patient man. He endured years of insults in the court of Aerys.

He stood up, went to the whore, no, his wife now, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Your play did not end, my dear wife." She stirred a little.

His feet moved away to the door. His hands pushed, giving way to the morn light as he took his first steps in the shoes of a shepherd.

As he strode in a steady gait, smallfolk alike bowed to him; the show of respect soothed his pride. His confident steps slowly halted in front of the Village Elder.

"Hagar, find some men to search in the mountains for some iron veins."

"As you wish, m'lord." Hagar complied without hesitation.

Before Hagar could leave, Tywin said, "And get some men who know trades like blacksmithing and carpentering." His Lannister guard needed to be armed more than some ragtag cheap leather armour with better weapons. It was needed as his army would be a visible representation of his lordly status. They won't be seen as some recruited bandits.

"Now. Go." The Village Elder left with hurried steps.

"Ser Bjoern!"

"Y-Yes, m'lord!" His newly knighted sworn sword shadowed his every step until told otherwise by himself.

"Gather all men who didn't care about doing dirty deeds." He dismissed him with his glare alone.

"B-By your command, m'lord."

His village needed more manpower which he couldn't get through poaching off his neighbour nobles who were vassals under Count Beranz. Instead, he would let his bandits loose on some villages near him to build a situation where all would flee to Aldelen whom the Lord could defend against these bandits.

He smirked, feeling satisfied at the thought of dealing a heavy blow to his neighbours. Of course, he would need some allies soon enough. Fortunately, he got possible allies west from him. A little party of men to hunt down bandits who plagued them would endear himself to the nobles in the West. A show of force as much as a gesture of goodwill.

Tywin did not need to be friends with close neighbours, after all, border disputes were common which meant the farther the ally was, the better for him. Although, not too far or it wouldn't make much sense to gain an ally who couldn't even get the troops in time to support him.

He heard the heavy footsteps of his bandits. The wait wasn't long before ten men assembled. The cheap misfit leather armour fitted the roles they would play. A coincidence which he liked.

"Do you all have kin?" All of them shook their heads. He stopped the smirk which tried to resurface on his face because, with that knowledge in place, he could just arrange their deaths after the usefulness of these tools was gone. On the other hand, a group of bandits would be very useful in his ambitions. For every precise tool, you need to have a hammer to force the opposition.

"Good. Your task is simple. Create chaos in the close villages. Cause them to flee to Aldelen. Discretion is important. Do you all understand?" Some looked wide-eyed, thinking him as some honourable fool. At least, all nodded their assent.

He said, "Ser Bjoern, make it very clear to them that I do not want any involvement with my name."

"B-By your command, m'lord!" The gains would show themselves in no time.

Tywin turned his back to them and walked to the gathered smiths he could see not far away. He was at their attention as he neared their gathering. He saw them trying to stand straight like his growing Lannister guard at his attention. A surprise, yet welcomed. It felt good when the smallfolk respected him.

"M'lord." The leader of the group said.

After they finished bowing, he said, "How much iron do we have?"

"Not much raw, but the loot from the castle could be used to smelt new armour and weapons." He nodded at that as he already decided the use of the looted armour and swords.

"Smelt them into new swords and chainmail." His order was taken without question. "And I also want arrowheads made for our future archers."

"Yes, m'lord."

"Tell me your name." He said to the obvious leader of blacksmiths.

"Sigrid, m'lord." He would remember the name. He nodded as he said, "Very well, I want it as earlier as possible."

"As you wish, m'lord." Tywin glanced at the nearby children who played a mook fight against each other, imitating knights. The innocent of a child, thinking that knights were honourable protectors of the weak and especially dreaming to become them. Most would fail and become just bandits or some men-at-arms fighting and would die in the fields lonely.

At least they would die for him. For his ambition. For his cause. For his House. And in time for his children.

His look wandered to the little chit, his daughter, Mary, who apparently played the princess to be rescued by the knights. He scoffed at that notion. He would need to teach her the importance of her station. It was all and well to have friends, however, a lowborn as a friend was as useless as the shit marring the ground.

Yet he paused his thoughts. She wasn't really his daughter, but other nobles would think that. What would others say when they saw that she played in the mud with lowborn boys like some common whore found everywhere? His reputation would be heavily besmirched. He could forget the respect.

She would be brought to heel like a good useful pet. All in good time. He had time.

"Ser Daddy! Save me from the evil dragons!" His... daughter shouted. Ah, well, he would teach her the very first lesson of being a noble's daughter.

"You there! You will never touch her with your filthy hands. Do you understand?" He raised his voice at first, then lowered to a whisper at the end. The boys paled, even stumbled as they fell down on their bums. The fear was so visible in their body language as all boys nodded frantically.

"Oh! Ser Daddy transformed into an evil dragon! Protect me!" Mary did really try his patience once again.

As Tywin glared at her, he said, "Mary. You are now a noble. We do not play with filth."

She tilted her head to the side. "Do we make the rules of the village?" He did not really know where she wanted to go with that, but he nonetheless answered her, "Of course, we do. House Lannister rules Aldelen."

His daughter smiled too smugly for his taste. "That just means I can make the rule where I can play with whom I want!"

Tywin of the House Lannister, Lord of Aldelen, stared incredulously at his daughter who bested him with her wits alone.

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 **Author's Note:**

 _Well, Tywin Lannister would actually kill Brynhildr and her daugther if he didn't discover the ring._

 _The thing that showed his really complex character is his psychological issues that being his deeply ingrained trauma of his father's failure. His childhood was influenced by his father's mismanagement. He feared being mocked like his father was for his mistresses.  
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 _Every character, if it is realistic portrayed, has flaws, be it hidden or totally obvious ones. Sometimes we can spot them miles away, other times they are so hidden that even we are fooled by the carefully crafted mask.  
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 _On the other hand, every character, even the stubborn ones, can change without the help of the author (in other words: a natural character development). Of course, Tywin Lannister did not die young at all. But that's another discussion about the brain and the 'soul'._

 _Well, I welcome a discussion about this topic, if you have some thoughts to share, well nothing will stop you. PM me or review. Choose wisely._


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